


A Quotable Thing

by anyothergirl415



Series: A Quotable Verse [1]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyothergirl415/pseuds/anyothergirl415
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike likes Misha. Misha likes movies. They make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quotable Thing

The first time he saw him it was pretty obvious the man was completely unaware. Mike stood just inside the kitchen and watched the steady sway of hips, left right, left right, swirl dip and one _really_ bad attempt at a moonwalk that he somehow made look _fantastic_. The music blaring from the black laptop on the creamy counter top was Gym Class Heroes, Mike recognized lines about taking clothes off and having a good time. And this guy – crazy wild dark brown hair sticking up like someone had just held it tight while giving him a thorough fucking, ratty bleach stained jeans slung low enough to reveal sharp juts of hips bones, no shirt covering creamy white skin that was just mostly hairless minus the dark dusting trail of small curls disappearing down his jeans.

 _Jesus Christ_.

This guy was fucking gorgeous.

The music was loud enough that Mike couldn’t hear his breath catch but he could feel it, thick in his chest, causing his blood to quicken and eyes to darken. The song switched, something still upbeat and quick about queen’s and drinking too much and this _guy_ continued to move like the kitchen floor was his own private stage. Mike could tell his eyes were closed and occasionally the music dipped enough to hear the words falling from his lips, the man singing along into a spatula like his life fucking _depended_ on it.

When he spun back to the stove the song faded and changed and the guy’s hips swayed so deliciously you’d think the oven was his lover and he was perfecting his best _come get me_ dance. The spatula disappeared in a large pot and the guy turned his way, locking him with icy blue eyes that pierced straight through Mike’s _soul_.

Or whatever.

Reduced him to a slack jaw and half hard press against his jeans at least.

Mike flushed at being caught so openly staring, gazing, admiring, (and not at all drooling) and he tried to tear his gaze away but apparently crazy should-be-dancing-with-a-pole guy was just amused. His head tipped back, exposed his Adam’s apple, and his lips parted to release the most pleasant laugh that tumbled down Mike’s spine and settled low in the pit of his stomach.

“Uh, I’m sorry,” he mumbled and dragged his hand up through his hair, scrubbing fingers into the gently curled wisps of sandy brown hair he’d been growing out since randomly shaving his head last year on a bald kick that kind of worked for him for awhile. He kept his gaze locked with the guy’s because looking away was likely an impossibility.

“No dice, solider,” the guy shook his head and turned back to the pan.

Mike was still staring ‘cause of the whole, impossibility of looking away thing and well, what the _hell_ was that supposed to mean? _No dice, solider?_ Really?

Clearing his throat he stepped forward and spoke over the next song, which was quieter, slower, unfamiliar. “Yeah so, I’m Mike.”

“My life is as good as an Abba song, it’s as good as Dancing Queen,” dancing guy explained and nodded and lifted his spoon from the spatula to suck up thick red sauce.

The spoon was offered out to Mike, half full of the sauce and the guy smiled, sweet and serene. Something kick started painfully fast in his heart. “I uh… thanks?” What choice did he have? Really?

Stepping forward his hand lifted and curled around dancing guy’s and he brought the spoon forward. The sauce was sweet and salty, tangy on his tongue, _perfect_ , and Mike moaned. “Jesus Christ that’s good.”

Dancing guy beamed and swayed his hips, making no move to pull his hand away. “I used to fuck guys like you in prison,” he informed, lips twitching in amusement.

Mike? Well, by this point he was a little more than disturbed. Seriously, who the hell was this guy and why did he keep saying these bizarrely random things? “You’re… really weird,” Mike informed, blinking slowly.

The expression on the guy’s face brightened with such intensity that Mike had to physically step back, gut churning as if he’d just been punched. “He’s an angel! He’s an angel straight from heaven!” Dancing guy laughed, long and loud, and dropped the spatula back in the pot before throwing his arms around Mike in a hug that had him stumbling back a step and circling his own arm around him just to keep them upright.

“Misha,” a surprised laugh came from the doorway and the arms withdrew.

Mike turned in a mixture of relief and disappointment – dancing guy, Misha apparently, gave amazingly great hugs, all firm and muscle and heat. “Jensen? This uh, your roommate?”

“That would be him,” Jensen nodded and grinned, shoulders shifting the shirt along his back. “You ready to go?”

It seemed weird that Jensen would just dismiss this, the whole random dancing, half naked guy making sauce and giving out hugs. And talking in random outbursts that seemed to be pulled from nowhere. “Uh… sure…” he slid back, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Nice to meet you, Misha.”

“Oh, Mike…” Misha breathed and lifted a hand, wiggling his fingers in a wave before the song shifted and changed and his hips instantly swerved into rhythm with the next song.

As Mike followed Jensen down the hall out the front door he could feel his heart racing, skin still tingling from the smooth slide of Misha’s skin, tongue pleasantly warm from the linger hints of sauce. “So.”

“Misha?” Jensen lifted and eyebrow and laughed, leading them out of the apartment building.

“Yeah, uh, is he…” Mike wanted to supply something, like maybe _insane_ but that seemed too cruel for such a beautiful person, no matter what facts might suggest.

“Well, he’s unique, that’s for sure,” Jensen continued to laugh even when Mike shoved at his side with a curled fist. “He only ever talks using movie quotes.”

“Say what?” Mike turned to him, eyes slightly wide. “Only movie quotes?”

Jensen grinned and nodded. “I don’t know, maybe he’s like, a super genius or something. He just remembers all these movie quotes all the time. And I used to think he just made some of them up but no. We taped him one day and looked every single one up. All from movies, all accurate within ninety nine percent. I’ve never heard him say anything not a movie quote.”

“Oh Mike?” Mike asked because, even though he couldn’t really place any of the movie quotes he heard before, that one seemed most bizarre.

Tugging the passenger door of Mike’s Ford open Jensen’s waved off the words, “easy. Monsters Inc. We watched it last night.”

Mike climbed in behind the wheel, considering teasing Jensen about watching a Pixar movie but he let it slide. Currently his thoughts were too preoccupied to be bothered with anything outside swaying hips and a warm smile.

-=-=-=-

“I’m kind of a big deal.”

Mike looked up from his sandwich and squinted. Sunshine haloed around thigh dark hair and of course it would still look completely post-fuck even out in the middle of the day when he was more properly dressed and less swaying. Though his hips were just barely inching from side to side and Mike could make out headphones around his neck.

This quote was familiar and Mike thought for a moment before looking up, “Anchorman?”

Misha dropped down next to him and Mike no longer had to compete with the sun to get a good look. Which was really fucking fantastic because Misha was the most stunningly gorgeous man he’d ever laid eyes on. And Mike was really good friends with Jensen fucking Ackles so that was saying something.

“I was born a poor black child,” Misha mused and reached into his bag to pull out a container, popping it open and exposing a large piece of something Mike suspected may have been tofu.

“Hmm, so do you just pull these out of nowhere or are you attempting some relevance? Steve Martin fan?” Mike suggested and watched as Misha swiftly pulled out chopsticks and poked at the tofu, acting for all the world like eating flavorless sponge with two sticks wasn’t weird. Or kind of gross but well, Mike tried not to judge.

“I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not gonna take this anymore,” Misha pointed out and spun his index finger in a slow circle beside his temple. The quote was probably – definitely – taken out of context and shaped to mean something different than it was originally intended, but Misha made it sound so much like his own words it didn’t really matter.

“So insanity is your claim then huh?” A soft chuckle that Misha returned and Mike’s heart tapped out the beat barely audible from Misha’s headphones.

“Louise, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

An arm slung around his shoulder and squeezed until Mike found himself turning and enjoying the feel of soft brown hair caressing his skin. His lungs half filled and emptied shakily. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

“Well, no bodies perfect,” Misha shrugged and released his hold, settling back to resume his tofu eating.

It was weird, how freakishly bizarre Misha was and yet how very hard Mike had to wrack his brain for something to say that wouldn’t sound lame. Jensen was right, Misha had to be a fucking genius if he could remember movie quotes and sprout them out at a moment’s notice – even giving them some level of relevance – well… _damn_. “So uh, are you a student?”

And alright, Mike already knew the basic facts about Misha because he’d hounded Jensen until the man was spilling truths and revealing details. Misha was twenty and a junior, Mike was two years older than him and in his fifth year which technically made him a super senior but he preferred to call it the fifth circle of hell. Something along those lines, true facts. Misha was studying English but Jensen had no idea if he had picked something as a specialty, what he was going to do with the thing. Mike was familiar with that brand of uncertainty.

“I don’t know, I mostly just hurt people,” with a lift of his shoulders Misha closed the lid on his container and turned enough to smile wide at Mike. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Just like that Misha was gone and Mike was left contemplating the imprinted heat of a hand on his arm. Well.

This was new.

-=-=-=-

“Alright, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up,” is how Misha greeted Mike the third time they meet. Mike might have jumped slightly only because he’d been pouring over Econ 304 and that shit was intense.

“Morning Misha,” he mumbled and rubbed his fingers against his temple.

Misha sniffed loudly and sighed long and extended, lips parting slowly, “I love the smell of napalm in the morning.”

Laughing softly Mike agreed with a nod and wondered at what point things had ceased being _weird dancing, movie quoting guy_ and just accepted. Misha tapped a finger on his Econ book and Mike sighed. “Worse class ever. Not my thing you know? Should be my thing. I’m not sure I have a thing,” Mike shrugged, launched into something that would have to work as far as explanations went. Something about the path he’d been traveling the last five years – maybe longer – and the decisions about his future he couldn’t seem to make because they felt so important. And Mike wasn’t sure he could lock himself into something and just _know_ this was what he was meant to do.

“Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death,” Misha whispered and curled his fingers over Mike’s forearm, squeezing softly.

It was just some quote from some movie but it made sense in a weird sort of way. Mike looked over at him and smiled, laying his fingers over Misha’s and nodding. “That’s freaky you know? The way you can make sense when you shouldn’t.”

“I’m the king of the world,” Misha murmured and shifted forward until their thighs touched.

Mike tried to ignore the heat and press and too _close_. “Isn’t it, I’m king of the world?”

Grinning slowly, Misha shook his head and repeated, “I’m the king of the world.”

“Huh, alright,” Mike shrugged because who was he to argue with Misha on the subject. “You’re uh… thigh is touching mine.”

“I’ll sleep with you for a meatball,” Misha countered.

Mike’s eyebrows pulled together and he scratched along his neck slowly. “I um…”

“Stella! Hey, Stella!” Misha clambered off the picnic bench and took off across the green lawn.

Watching as the man tackled into Jensen’s side, Mike resolutely ignored the way his heart was racing and his cock was half hard against his zipper.

-=-=-=-

“Follow me or perish, sweater monkeys.”

Mike was halfway through folding a pair of rainbow polka dot boxers and they fluttered from his fingers as he turned to stare wide eyed at Misha. “You wanna what with who?”

The smile that curved Misha’s lips up made Mike’s heart stop. Start. Skip a beat and flip upside down. It should have been painful, but it made him want to jump off a building and fly. Well, _shit_. Mike might have it a little bad for this Misha guy.

“I’m hungry. Let’s get a taco,” Misha slid forward and grabbed one of the shirts Mike had yet to fold, tucking the sleeves in and folding it in half before adding it to the basket.

All Mike could do was stare. “Is that seriously a quote?” Misha looked at him and grinned even brighter nodding quickly. “How do you keep finding me? It’s not like you’re asking someone or something.”

This time Misha looked slightly embarrassed, cheeks flushing red as his head dropped down. A moment later he held up his cell phone, shrugging.

Bending in Mike could see a text message screen from Jensen. Yeah, that figured. Jensen was creepy about knowing everyone and everything and if you were on campus, he would find you. “Ah, I see.” He tossed his boxers onto the pile and lifted the basket. “So uh, tacos huh?”

The smile was back on Misha’s face, bright and wide, and Mike decided it should come with a warning label. Seriously. Caution: death by Misha smile, the cute will kill you.

So they went and got tacos.

And Mike talked about all the things that made him who he was and Misha decided to stick to a theme and quoted only Lord of the Rings movies at him. That was at least a common ground that Mike could get under, even if Misha stroking his taco and calling it _my precious_ was a little disconcerting. It was weird, and occasionally disturbing, and _god_ Mike had never had so much fun in his life.

Along the walk back to Mike’s Misha launched into the entire opening speech, laying on the fake girl accent thick and hitting every word perfectly. Mike could almost picture the flames, the forging of the rings, the epic battle sequence. He even threw in a pretty damn good Hugo Weaving which may possibly have sealed the deal for Mike.

“This is me,” Mike gestured to his door, keys dangling from his fingers.

Misha stepped in, reaching out to curl his fingers into his shirt and tug slightly. “Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.”

“It’s only the first time,” Mike pointed out as his fingers curled along Misha’s neck, drawing him in.

It was one of those kisses Mike suspected movie kisses would be made up of. Parted lips and sweeping tongues, a pleasant heat that worked its way over every inch of him with growing intensity. Misha tasted salty from taco sauce, minty from the piece of gum he’d chewed after, and something else. Unnamable and _delicious_. His fingers curled into Mike’s shirt, held there tight to pull him in and hold him close.

“We should be lovers, and that’s a fact,” Misha murmured into the air Mike sucked in as their kiss broke.

“Moulin Rouge?” Mike smirked and bumped back against the door, hooking his fingers in Misha’s belt loop and tugging him inside the apartment. “You gonna quote to me while we have sex?”

“I am someone else when I’m with you, someone more like myself,” the man breathed and pushed at Mike’s shirt, fingers burning into his flesh as he pulled the cotton up.

Sometimes Mike wondered.

He hadn’t seen every movie, didn’t know every quote, and considered that Misha could be fucking with him. But that didn’t seem like a Misha thing to do. Along with that thought though was the worry that maybe it would always be this way. Maybe Misha had some really fucking weird disease and talking in movie quotes was some sort of pathological thing. It wasn’t an entire unlikely thing. People had weird diseases after all.

“How about, no talking during sex?” Mike suggested and the grin on Misha’s face suggested he agreed.

They left a trail of clothing behind them on the way to the bedroom; nearly knocking a lamp from the side table when Mike’s hip grazed the edge during a backward stumble. It hurt but not enough to stop him from rocking up into Misha’s hand as it quested down to wrap around his cock, stroke firmly.

Mike discovered that Misha liked to kiss with teeth and tongue and the slow drag of lips that wasted no time in tasting every inch of his neck and chest. It was blindingly hot, slick wet painting his skin, the tip of his tongue dipping into his belly button. He was sure the noises out of his mouth were too loud and drawn out but Misha seemed spur on by them so he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Fingers wrapped around his cock at the base once more, holding him steady as that fucking _tongue_ worked over the slit and slowly around the head. Mike had to restrain himself from bucking off the bed too roughly. Apparently Misha’s level of genius extended to the bedroom as well, a fact which Mike was insanely glad for.

Tight heat rocked through as Misha’s mouth descended, hollowing cheeks to pull him deeper. Mike moaned his name and threaded fingers through his hair, clenching around the never ending waves of pleasure. It was tortuously slow, too wet heat making his mind spine and his hips thrust forward.

Then it was over before it could really begin. Misha was climbing back up his body and dropping down on the bed. Before he could question, the man’s legs were spreading wide, hips rocking up as his fingers stroked along hard flesh.

“Fuck,” Mike groaned and fumbled to the side, tugging at his bedside drawer until he could fish out a condom and a bottle of lube. “You want me to fuck you?” He asked, thick and throaty as he rolled back toward the man.

Misha nodded and moaned as Mike slicked his fingers and slid down the mattress. It was tight and too hot to fully comprehend and Mike sucked in shaky breaths as he pushed one finger all the way in. Almost instantly Misha was squirming and rolling his hips down until Mike added a second, then a third, and scissored his fingers with a twist of his wrist.

Minutes – or hours, Mike couldn’t fathom time at the moment – later Misha was up on his knees in front of him. The first press forward incased him in flaring warmth that pulled him deeper and made his shoulders shake. He thrust forward, gripping Misha’s hips and holding him firmly in place until the man’s head was dropping down and soft whimpers were filling the air.

They moved together like sparks, lightning crashing with each rough slam forward until Mike could no longer think in complete words. It was a slur of Misha’s name, dragged out in moans around the clench of muscles around him. Each answering moan had Mike driving in harder, faster; pushing them both to the point where spiraling out of control was the only option.

Just like that it was over, Mike was coming long and hard with shallow thrusts and Misha was stroking himself to completion. Mike pulled out and tied off the condom, barely managing to toss it into the trash before collapsing down onto the mattress with a shaky inhale.

Misha settled into his side, laying a hand over Mike’s heart and burrowing his lips into his neck. For awhile it was post orgasm silence, both men floating blissfully down from their shared high. And then…

“My god. I haven’t been fucked like that since grade school.”

Mike choked on a laugh and shook his head. “Fight Club? Oddly fitting I suppose.” He grinned and tucked his arm around Misha, holding him close. “Will you stay?”

Misha hummed in agreement and tugged a blanket up over them.

Letting his eyes drift close Mike couldn’t help the pleased smile on his face. It was probably time to start watching more movies.


End file.
